Page 36 of Drop the Gloves

“Abernathy!”

Evan froze as he took off his elbow pads.

The locker room was filled with reporters, again crowded around Barczyk as they asked about the aftermath of his first game against the Gliders.

As the lone goal scorer, Doyle had his own troupe of reporters around him, as did Farrell for the shutout.

Evan very rarely had the press interested in him, and it always seemed out of politeness.

A few extra quotes they could add to their collection and use if necessary.

But when he looked up, there was a trio of reporters in front of him with their cell phones out. They waited for his acknowledgement, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “Hi.”

Needing no more invitation, they went at it.

“This was an exceptionally physical game for the team,” a woman with dark brown hair said. “You’re not known for your hits, but you were among the most aggressive players out there for the Riveters. Could you tell us a little about that?”

“Uhh...” His brain, helpful as ever, refused to come up with any actual words for what felt like a full minute. “I was?”

The woman nodded, more patient than he deserved.

“The Riveters recorded over forty hits tonight, which is closer to what we see in a playoff game. You were responsible for seven of those, including the one against Aimo Kinnunen in the third. You average less than a hit per game over your career. What was it about tonight’s game that inspired you to change your performance? ”

“Seven hits?” And then, because he wasn’t as smart as he should be, he asked, “How many did Barczyk get?”

“Five,” the woman said, her lips quirking in a smile. “Should I take it that’s the answer to my question?”

The other reporters laughed, and Evan tried to smile but wasn’t in control of his face at the moment. He’d beaten Barczyk. Holy shit.

“Wow, that’s a first,” he said, which earned another laugh.

He joined in, letting their amusement catch hold so he wouldn’t have room to think about later.

“Yeah, Barzy’s a good role model for how to play a physical game.

It’s not how I prefer to play, but there are some teams and some situations where it’s needed. Tonight felt like one of those games.”

“Did you feel the Gliders were being unnecessarily rough in how they played?”

Evan hesitated. He’d had enough media training to know what would sound good to fans and what might piss people off. As a kid, he’d hated when players had given generic, bland answers, but those were the safest.

“Philly’s a physical team,” he hedged. “They came out hard, so we matched that intensity.”

“Did you think they were targeting Barczyk and your line?”

Evan felt like he was backed more and more into a corner.

He did think that, and the reporters knew it.

They just needed him to say it so they could get their sound clip and sensationalize a game that was over.

The Riveters still had to play the Gliders two more times this season; the last thing he needed was a target on his back.

Though after that hit to Kinnunen, maybe he already had one.

“Teams know what kind of player Barzy is,” he said, choosing to ignore the Gliders altogether. “Anyone who’s smart tries to keep him contained, because he can cause a real mess for the other team if they’re not careful.”

Sensing they wouldn’t get anything juicy out of him, they offered a few more questions about the game and the upcoming schedule.

He answered politely, even if he didn’t expect to see a word of it used in their coverage of tonight.

Which was fine—Evan didn’t make it into sports blogs often, and he kind of preferred it that way.

He also didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

He was not an instigator who was going to deliver big hits all of a sudden.

Evan had showered and changed long before the media was done with Barczyk, so he let himself get shuttled back to the hotel.

They had an afternoon flight to Pittsburgh, then an evening off.

They’d have a whole two home games before they were off again.

Four and a half days at his own condo. He used to look forward to those stretches at home, no matter how short, but all he wanted was to make tonight last as long as possible.

A bunch of the guys dragged him to the hotel bar to buy him a drink.

“You outhit Barzy in Philly,” was all Lawson said as he ordered a round of shots and put the tab on Barczyk’s room.

Evan wasn’t in a rush—no matter how much he wanted to be—so he stayed with his teammates for an hour. Long enough for them to be shooed away by the coaching staff.

“No repeats of Portland,” Coach Mel warned as Evan and a few others disappeared in the elevator. “Finish your drinks upstairs in your rooms.”

There was a lot of grumbling, but they did as they were told.

When the elevator let them out on the floor where most of them were staying, they grouped up and disappeared into either Woodward’s, Doyle’s, or Calhoun’s room.

They were too loud to notice Evan hang back, and he was glad he didn’t have to make any excuses as he fished into his pocket for his room key—

And found not one, but two keycards.

He took them out and stared at them in confusion. Two identical cards, except one had a piece of paper with the hotel’s stationary attached.

Room 445

Come get your prize ;)

A strangled noise escaped Evan’s throat before he could stop it, and he closed his fist around the keycards.

He looked up and down the hallway to see if anyone had heard him.

Everyone was long gone, hidden away in rooms to continue celebrating in peace.

No one was there to witness his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

With trembling legs, he walked in the opposite direction of his room. He found Room 445 next to the stairwell and stared at it. There was no way Barczyk had beaten him here. Should Evan wait until later? Give him a chance to settle in before he showed up, begging for his reward? Maybe he—

A door opened down the hall. “All right, all right!” Kates shouted. “I’ll get some dang ice!”

Panicked, Evan did the only thing he could think to do: he put the keycard to the door and rushed inside before anyone could spot him.

The room was pitch black. It took him a few tries to find the light switch, and then he was blinded. He stumbled into the room as his eyes adjusted. When he got his bearings, he stopped short.

He was in Riley Barczyk’s hotel room.

It was a stupid revelation to have, because he’d been in plenty of hotel rooms with Barczyk.

He’d just never been in one of them without Barczyk.

He wasn’t sure why that mattered, but it did.

It was the difference between being a guest versus being an intruder.

It didn’t matter that Barczyk had invited him: he wasn’t there, so Evan shouldn’t be.

He lingered in the middle of the room. But the only thing more awkward than staying would be leaving only to return later, so he sat at the edge of the bed.

There were no real signs that Barczyk had stayed here last night.

Housekeeping had made everything pristine once more, with only a few items cluttered by a duffle bag and next to the sink.

Maybe it would’ve been easier if there was something personal in the space.

A book or a pair of sunglasses or chapstick or something.

Nope, it was a sterile hotel room that could’ve belonged to any of his teammates.

Was that the problem? Did he want to see evidence of Barczyk? Would a half-chewed mouthguard or boxing gloves help?

No, he thought as he grabbed the TV remote and put on the first movie he could find. A distraction would help.

He watched Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back with painfully long commercial breaks until finally, finally the sound of the door unlocking interrupted.

Evan turned off the TV and jumped to his feet, all nerves and a sudden jolt of desire that had him half-hard before Barczyk had slipped into the room.

Barczyk froze when he saw Evan, then broke into a grin.

“Fucking goon,” Barczyk said. He was still in his suit from the game, navy with a golden tie.

Evan was too, though he hadn’t noticed until just then.

He should’ve changed, because his rapidly growing erection was straining against the suit pants and left him exposed to Barczyk’s gaze.

Barczyk had definitely noticed, because he licked his lips as he dragged his eyes down Evan’s body.

“I didn’t think it was possible to beat you.” Evan’s voice was so husky he didn’t recognize it. Fists clenched at his sides, it took a painful amount of concentration to stand still. He wanted so badly to act, to devour Barczyk and take and take and take, but he didn’t know how to start.

“I’m only human.” Barczyk chuckled as he pulled off his suit jacket, revealing how fucking perfectly tailored his shirt was.

It hugged every inch of muscle, from his chest to his biceps.

Evan’s mouth watered, and he swallowed thickly when Barczyk ran a hand down his own hard cock. “I’ve got my weaknesses.”

And then they were all over each other. They collided halfway between the door and the bed, arms tangling together and lips meeting.

Barczyk’s hair was still a little damp from his shower, and Evan moaned as he buried his fingers in those familiar curls.

He used his grip to tilt Barczyk’s head back to deepen the kiss.

Barczyk undid the buttons of Evan’s shirt and wiggled it off him, then did the same for himself while Evan explored Barczyk’s mouth.

Soon their bare skin pressed together. Barczyk grabbed Evan’s ass to pull him closer. Their dicks were still trapped by layers of fabric, and their height difference made it such a tease whenever Barczyk rubbed against him.

“Bed?” Barczyk offered, like he could read Evan’s growing frustration.